Turning
by thatswhyyyoudont
Summary: Jerry / Peter Slash. Alternative basement scene - if the sun had gone down before Charley and Peter thought of something.
1. Chapter 1

Turning

When the inevitable finally happened and the sun went down, Jerry had been disappointed. He deliberately hadn't fed since Amy, knowing this confrontation with Charley was coming; he had wanted to finish him. 400 years old, centuries of tribes behind him, he knew how to do such things. Just as he knew a certain spot to feed from that would keep the victim alive for days, and one that would spill virtually no blood, and one that would make it spurt like fountains, he knew one that would kill instantly. Effortless draining. He couldn't wait. It was better when they were alive and struggling, the blood warm and flowing and live, but Jerry wasn't doing this for pleasure. He was doing it out of principle; the little brat just had to be dealt with.

And so Jerry's fledglings, knowing his plan, had ignored Charley and fallen back onto Peter the minute the sun went down and Jerry, no longer caring about how much he could tease Charley or prolong his suffering, had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and sank his fangs into that killing spot, severing the life from his scrawny body.

It was the blood he was disappointed in, and not because it was no longer flowing. Getting Charley all worked up and righteous as he had, Jerry had been expecting a feast. For all his bravado, the kid was a bland, weak nothing. Still, Jerry had been restraining himself and now finished Charley off with ease in a matter of minutes, with the expertise of an older one. When he was done, he let the body drop and looked up with a feeling of anti-climax in his mouth.

The others were still on Peter, crawling all over him and feeding messily. Probably hurting and not actually taking that much, still learning. Some had learnt how to take long, deeper gulps from certain areas, but most just gorged on whatever they could get. Jerry watched for a while. Peter was still alive. He must have heard Charley die.

"That's enough," Jerry said, after a bit, and they retreated. They had to learn not to gorge all at once but to make their treat last. It was more fun that way.

He could see Peter trembling out of the corner of his eye but ignored him. He had a fucking ceiling to fix, not to mention whatever the two of them had smashed upstairs. Amy was trailing after him again, looking wistful, but with no Charley around to goad, he wasn't interested. Another reason he preferred turning to killing; he now had a dead body to get rid of.

After a busy night, Jerry checked on Peter and found his groans had subsided but he was still alive. As he was turned, he wouldn't be missing food or water, but the lack of blood and long exposure to sunlight had weakened him. None of the others would let him feed without Jerry's permission. If Charley hadn't been dead, if the small amount of blood left in him hadn't been congealing, Peter probably would have attacked him. He wouldn't have been able to help himself. He looked like he wasn't going to last much longer, and had become indifferent to the others' occasional assaults.

Jerry almost told them to knock it off; he couldn't decide whether he wanted Peter killed or turned. At first, he was sure of the former, but he was wavering now. Perhaps it was dissatisfaction of Charley. Jerry had been unprepared for Peter; he was sure the man would run when he finally unbolted himself from the panic room, and Jerry would have quite happily let him run. He had no idea what had gone on the magician's head and had more or less ignored him while concentrating on Charley. If Amy had been able to hurt Charley when she had the chance, that would have been different; Jerry had quite enjoyed cornering Peter on his own and taunting him, had been growing excited by his familiar, more masculine scent. It was then, maybe, that it occurred to him that there was more to Peter than a potential fledgling feed.

He had been aroused, more than he had been for some time, when he watched them feed, though he kept a mask of perfect, casual indifference over his features. He had been about to tell them they had had their feed and take the man for himself when Charley had got away and distracted him and Jerry just knew he had to go. The kid would grate on Jerry for the rest of his days and make things difficult for everyone if he was turned. The little brat. There was no need for Peter to burn in the sun.

He looked at Peter now. To turn or not to turn, that was the question. After the first few weeks or so, the euphoria of turning and feeding and experiencing a whole new world would wear off, and Peter would struggle with his loyalties to Jerry, to settle. Oh, Jerry could wrap his words around the best of them and coax the most stubborn of victims, make them feel safe and sheltered and wanted, but with Peter he had to admit he'd have his work cut out for him. That, and the magician knew a dangerous amount about vampires, and might take it into his head to commit suicide and take the rest of them with him. Maybe.

Jerry approached the man now and knelt beside him. His clothes were torn and open where the others had fed, bloodied and dirt-ridden. His skin was pale and still hot from the sun, Jerry noticed with some displeasure when he touched his cheek. Whatever he chose to do, allowing him blood and turning him or just putting him out of his misery, Jerry didn't want to leave him here for the others to pick at whenever they felt like it. He took Peter into his arms and lifted him, carrying him out of the basement with ease and up the stairs, through his corridor and into a vacant room. Peter was conscious but didn't resist, as limp and pliant as a child. As if denying the act of conscience, Jerry dumped Peter unceremoniously on the floor, and locked him in without looking back.

When he returned - and he couldn't leave it long as he suspected Peter was actually dying by now, and he was housebound now anyway, noting the light through the drawn curtains with distaste - he expected Peter to have crawled into a corner, they all did, but he was lying prone where Jerry had left him.

Jerry knelt beside him and pulled the limp form into his arms. Despite the lingering smells of dirt and fledgling saliva and sunlight and approaching death, he could still make out Peter's scent, and felt his fangs pulse with desire. He could tell Peter was still conscious although he didn't open his eyes, but said nothing.

Jerry licked his lips. He was still gorged on Charley and in no rush. He didn't normally kill at once; drinking to kill took a lot, enough to possibly kill a fledgling who wasn't used to it, and Charley and Peter's parents had been few exceptions; Charley for obvious reasons, the Vincents because he just happened to be starving when their house was the first he came across.

He'd had room for the kid when he was done, and had considered it as he looked up the stairs and saw his poor face in the dark as he realised what had happened. But then he had decided against it. He forgot why. He didn't really feed from kids, not out of any moral reasoning but because they just weren't very satisfying.

Yes, he was gorged on Charley, but Peter didn't have much to give anyway. He sank his fangs in slowly, in a spot that produced little pain, and little blood, for that matter. Jerry let what little was left slide down his tongue and into his throat - practically painless for the victim. He did it in the manner of feeding from a fellow vampire he was dating, in a slower, more love-making mood than a fucking one. It was hard, though. Peter tasted wonderful. He'd been wasted on the younger ones.

Soon Jerry made himself stop and licked what was remaining away, before pulling back to admire Peter. His eyes were still childishly closed, and although Jerry quite wanted to see them open and staring pleading into his own, he did nothing.

Instead, he held his claws to his own throat and dug in. Peter's eyes flew open instinctively, seeking out the smell. Claws began to form at his fingertips, and he twitched as his fangs began to grow. Jerry could hear his heart, before faint and barely there but now building. Peter stared at the blood running from Jerry's fingers and licked his parched lips.

Jerry had barely moved forward again when Peter's fangs were buried in him, feeding deeply and gratefully. His claws dug into Jerry's bare shoulders, all the way in, and Jerry didn't know if it was a form of rebellion or just the desire to increase blood.

He had deliberately cut where the blood would flow thick and fast, and felt Peter slowly coming back to life. The magician dug his claws down hard, producing long lines of blood, and although it hurt, Jerry didn't do anything.

When Peter was done, lapping up his parents' murderer's blood with his tongue as if it were ice cream, Jerry almost laughed. He watched as Peter leaned back and closed his eyes again, shaking, and licked his palms clean. His body throbbed with pleasure. His scent was fading, and Jerry savoured the shame and fear and human fragility while he still could.

He waited a little longer and then it happened, Peter opened his eyes and Jerry saw it there, the euphoria of turning and the first feed kicking in. Euphoria that he would experience a lot but was that much stronger the first time. Jerry couldn't smell his fear at all now, and he looked innocent and quite content. And he didn't know why, but Jerry leaned down and kissed him.

Peter wasn't quite as doped up looking as Amy had been, or as attractive, and more to the point he had no reason to be doing it, no Charley to torment, but he'd just wanted to do it. He was rewarded with Peter's open, welcoming mouth and the slip of his tongue, the taste of his own blood passing between them.

Just then, Jerry felt a wave of tiredness come over Peter, the combination of sunlight exposure and the lack of blood and turning taking its toll. Sure enough, when he pulled back, Peter more or less dropped and slept. Jerry left him. He should probably take him back to the basement, he was one of them now, after all, but he couldn't be bothered about that now. Despite having his doubts, something told him that turning Peter had been the right thing.


	2. Chapter 2

It was too hot. Peter may be used to the Vegas heat and his new, heightened senses, but it was still too fucking hot. He'd gotten laid again this evening and considered going out again, but somehow he knew it wouldn't be enough. He couldn't think of anyone, or anything, he'd like to do. He'd lost touch with his human friends, not wanting to hurt them, and everyone in his tribe was a stranger to him. That sucked when he was bored and alone and burning with...he didn't even know what. An ungiving restlessness he just didn't understand. Fucking Charley Brewster. Jerry should have left him alive so Peter could kill him himself.

Jerry. Peter rolled over in bed. He couldn't go to Jerry for a nighttime chat, not after running out on him with no warning and no word since. And he shouldn't want to. He growled to himself. He sat up in bed and hauled his laptop from the unit to his knee, fiddling around on eBay for something to do, but it hurt his eyes. He gave up and put it aside. He may be a vampire, but he was tired; he hadn't slept properly in days and he was exhausted, so fucking tired he felt ill with it. It was ruining his nights.

Out of options, Peter slid out of his underwear and began to palm himself. A good, sordid fantasy should help him relax, if nothing else. But it wasn't enough. He turned onto his stomach and began to dig around under the bed, flinging things aside carelessly until his fingers hit upon a small bottle. He breathed an audible sigh of relief.

Fingering himself on his knees, imagining being taken, was fucking glorious, but it still wasn't enough; he couldn't quite bring himself off. And he still hadn't calmed down. He withdrew his fingers and let himself fall onto his side. Lying there for a while, he was not do much thinking as seeing things in his head. Still hot and trembling with need, he knew he couldn't think about it for too long. He clawed at his underwear and snatched up the rest of his clothes, dressing hastily. As he left, he barely had the presence of mind to pick up his car keys as he ran out.

He may be overtired and far from thinking clearly, but his reflexes made him more apt a driver than most in Vegas. Even if he was doing 80 in a 50 zone. His brain held an overflow of protests, desire, fear, rehearsed explanations, so much so that he almost didn't notice the change in his surrounding when he arrived in the town. It was hardly any different from the desert he'd just emerged from; no desert suburb was like this, even underpopulated ones in the small hours of the night. It was the quietest thing since Peter's childhood, and more than a little eerie. He was going slow now, bordering on 25 and second thoughts.

He kept them at bay long enough to park, get out, take a deep breath and knock. He had to practically talk himself through it. He hadn't seen Jerry in months, and had no idea how he was going to react. Half of him hoped he wouldn't even be in. His inner voice went quiet however, when Jerry opened the door.

He looked surprised, and that look reassured Peter. He had assumed Jerry had somehow been keeping tabs on him. He otherwise looked the same, thankfully unannoyed and unhostile. Peter's heart was hammering like it hadn't since he was human. He supposed he should seal the moment with a hurried kiss or grope, to get past the small talk, but before he could get his brain to work, Jerry's hand closed around his wrist and pulled him inside. He didn't talk, merely dragged Peter upstairs by his wrist, and by the time they got to Jerry's bedroom, he was fully hard again and too excited to be wary.

He wasted no time in getting on the bed and bracing himself on the headboard, letting Jerry hustle around the room before pressing over him. They undressed hastily, and Peter could smell what he was slicking himself up with. He reached a hand around impatiently, encouraging him to hurry, and Jerry just laughed at him. It wasn't without a little strain, Peter noticed with some satisfaction. He groaned as Jerry guided himself in.

One of his hands came to rest beside Peter's on the headboard, arm taut and thick with muscle. The other went round his waist to his cock, meeting his own rhythm. He stopped when he found how close Peter was, instead grabbing his free hand and nipping it playfully. Peter yanked it away, in no mood for anything but intensity, and Jerry responded by gripping his hair, pulling him up flush against his body. After a moment, he gave a little growl and paused in his movements. Peter whined. Jerry pulled out and roughly flipped him, claiming his mouth. His fingers tangled with Peter's messily, guiding his hand towards his slicked dick. Peter began to stroke him without even thinking about it. Jerry bit his throat then, but gently, without breaking the skin, and then tilted his jaw with his claws, angling him for another, softer, kiss.

Peter noticed the claws in an absent kind of way, fully wanting and dreading to change himself, like he hadn't in ages, but he had only come for a straight fuck. He whined again and dug at Jerry's back with human fingernails, bringing his legs up to rest around his waist.

Jerry complied, pushing into him and moving as if they hadn't stopped.

"Look at me," his voice sounded husky from holding back.

Peter considered ignoring him, concentrating fully on the sensations his movements brought, but he was impelled to open his eyes and look at the hard, broad body above his own and the inhuman, dilated eyes staring into his and found he was coming, holding at Jerry's back and crying out, with an almost painful intensity.

When Jerry was done, he just barely moved off Peter, staying close, and Peter turned to him to be polite. Jerry's claws were still out and his eyes behind his lids were undoubtedly still dilated. It shouldn't turn him on. Fuck, he felt better. Raw and a little embarrassed, but better.

He took the opportunity to have a glance around; most of his time in this house had been in the basement and a cell. He felt a little chill as his eyes landed on the insignia. He closed them against reminders of that night.

"I should go," he muttered.

"Mm," Jerry said, uninterested. "Still on your own?"

Peter frowned into the pillow. "I haven't turned anyone, if that's what you mean."

Jerry nodded, like he'd been expecting this. "You should stop by more often."

"I like the city."

Jerry chuckled. "You think you're the only one?"

"What?"

"Where do you think the entire town is? In my basement?"

Oh. That figured. It kind of hurt that his, supposedly his, people had been so close when he'd been lonely. But then, they weren't exactly matey.

"It's kinda nice to come back to a place like this after the city," Jerry commented. "Cosy," and whether it was intended as a dig at Peter or not was unclear. He felt irritated all the same.

"So why are you home?"

"Thought I'd call it a night early." He paused. "It was a good call."

It was about as nice as Jerry got. Peter didn't want to get used to it and feel more settled than he already did. He tried again. "I should go."

"Why don't you just take a nap," Jerry drawled, before he could move. "I'll wake you before sun up."

He thought about it. He was tired, and he had nothing better to do. And when he woke, if he had time, they could go again, and as much as he hated to it admit it, that'd cheer him up no end.

"Thank you, by the way," he muttered.

"My pleasure," he said drolly, and as Peter would have reacted exactly like that in his shoes, he couldn't really complain. He let his eyes droop. He could practically smell the satisfaction on Jerry, the lost lamb returning to herd and all. Well, he'd just have to address that by taking off again, and this time he wouldn't be coming back. It was just a moment of weakness, just one, and whatever Jerry thought, he wouldn't be able to take advantage of it again. Having convinced himself, he slept.

* * *

><p>Nb) British person here having never, sadly, been to the States, so please excuse lazy errors, ie, speed zones.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Peter enjoyed testing his new abilities; learning it all alone wasn't so bad. He'd discovered that, although it took a lot, he could get drunk - properly drunk - which worked very well for him some nights. It was almost like nothing had changed. Like now; he had come with friends he didn't like too much who had disappeared a while ago, and was sort of letting some guy come on to him. And buy him more drinks.

"Peter?"

He turned, thinking it was his guy with his drink, and started when he saw Jerry. The older vampire grabbed his elbow to steady him when he overbalanced.

"What're you doing here?" He said, when he'd recovered.

Jerry's grin grew wider, either at Peter's obvious displeasure or the fact that he was so drunk. "Can't I have a night out in the city?"

Peter struggled to think of a comeback - anything with the word coincide ce would work - but he was suddenly finding it hard to talk.

Jerry must have read something in his face though, as he stepped back and said, "it's alright. I'll leave you alone if you want," sincerely enough.

"Are you here alone?" He asked quickly, because for a second, for some reason, being left alone again suddenly seemed like the worst thing in the world.

Jerry mentioned some names from Charley's neighbourhood that meant little to him. Then he glanced up at something over Peter's shoulder, and Peter turned to follow his gaze. His guy was at the bar watching them, looking annoyed, and Peter turned away quickly.

Jerry was grinning. "That what you came for?"

"What else would I come here for?" He snapped, which would have been impressive if he hadn't been slurring his words.

"It's a bad idea when you're this drunk," Jerry said. His grin had faded. Friendly concern.

Peter raised and lowered his shoulders in casual indifference. He wanted to get laid. He wanted to stop thinking and stop being alone, and if being cheap was the way to do it, well...he had managed to get a regular, casual someone, but the sex wasn't great and he was getting on Peter's nerves. As had the few since Ginger.

"Maybe you oughta get some water, some air, before you go back to him. We're not immune to hangovers, y'know."

He did, but he made a non committal noise. He could feel the other guys eyes burning into the back of his head. If he sobered up, he wouldn't want to be mauled around by him. He wouldn't be able to stand it. Someone bumped into him as they passed, and Jerry caught hold of him again. "Ok?"

He was anything but, but he nodded anyway. "Maybe you're right," he said hoarsely. Who was he kidding? This wasn't making him feel better, wasn't taking his mind off anything. He looked towards the guy at the bar reluctantly, who was doing something on his phone.

"You want to get rid of him?"

Jerry waited until he turned back to reply, and kissed him. It was fairly chaste, but went on for a long moment before Peter pushed him away. He turned back to the bar and sure enough, the guy had gone.

"I didn't say yes," he said accusingly.

Jerry's arms were still on his waist and he was grinning. "It's not like you'd struggle to pick someone else up," he said, ignoring what Peter hoped they were both thinking; that if he was going home with anyone, it would be him. "Come on," he said now, guiding him towards the smoking area. "Get some air. I'll get water."

He stood feeling shit with the necking couples, air not helping his situation at all.

"Thanks, but you don't have to babysit me y'know," Peter said off handed lay, taking his water.

"I know," he said, and they didn't pursue it.

Peter was starting to really regret his last drink.

"Ok?"

"Yeah. I might go. I really don't feel brilliant."

"Want some help?"

In his state, he couldn't tell what he was being offered exactly and didn't want to analyse it. He avoided Jerry's eyes and mumbled something. Soon afterwards, he found himself in a cab and with the alcohol showing no sign of wearing off. He was glad he hadn't brought a stranger home, though; he was fucking exhausted. Once home, he abandoned Jerry in the front room and crashed around the kitchen eating food he didn't want just to get back a sense of control. He made himself brush his teeth, but aside from what would have just fallen into bed if Jerry hadn't insisted on undressing him.

"I'm too tired," he whined.

"I'm not trying anything," he laughed.

Even so, once he was under the covers, clad in his boxers, he held his arms out to Jerry clumsily. "Come on."

"No."

"I'm fine. Come on."

"I'm not letting you add taking advantage of you to your list of reasons to hate me."

Peter blinked, taking this in. He hoped he could remember that to analyse later. "Stay anyway," he said, when he'd collected his thoughts.

"Sure?"

He nodded.

"If you give me your keys I'll lock up."

What a guy. Peter found them and let Jerry take them, then switched the light off and snuggled down under the covers. he was beginning to wish he had showered after all because he could smell the other guy all over him and he suddenly wanted it off. He imagined the other vampire sneaking out, but even with his insecurities and drunken state, he was pretty confident that he wouldn't. He just didn't seem like that type of guy. Sure enough, Peter heard him pad back in the darkness, and despite himself felt a little thrill when he held the chink of his belt being undone, and the gentle thump of his clothes dropping to the floor. He pressed into Jerry's warmth and was almost relaxed when he spoke.

"So," he said, fingering the marks on Peters neck. "These."

He groaned. He'd been hoping Jerry would be polite enough not to mention them.

"Not the guy at the club, huh? They're old."

"I'm sort of seeing someone," he muttered. The very appeal of that someone had been the biting and the pushing him against walls, among other things, but something was missing from the sex. It just wasn't working for him.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And why were you out tonight trying to hook up? Why are you cuddling me?"

"I am not cuddling you," he growled. "And he knows what I'm doing."

"Oh. But something is up with him?"

Peter shrugged. "If you must know, it's more of a problem with me."

"In what way?"

He said nothing.

"Physically?"

"Hmm."

"Huh. That's unusual in our kind. He must be really- "

"Not that," he said. "Not my dick. No. Maybe it is more psychological. He's good, and he's quite hot, but I'm just not...I dunno."

"Huh," Jerry said thoughtfully. "You're comfortable with him, right?"

"Yeah. And I've managed to sleep with people I've been less comfortable with." He didn't realise how that sounded until it had been said, and inwardly winced.

"Maybe it's because you're..."

He stiffened. "Go on. What?"

"Unhappy?"

That was fair. "Mm."

"You should sleep with one of us."

He laughed. "Oh really?"

"Seriously. With a vampire its just that little bit easier to feel close."

Peter found himself nodding, because there was no point kidding himself about the pleasure and the status when just lately all he wanted was to be close. They didn't speak again.

Peter slapped the alarm Jerry had set, and pressed himself back into his arms.

"How'd you feel?" He murmured.

"Not so bad. Maybe I'm still drunk. Do you want some coffee?"

"Sure."

In the kitchen, Peter realised how he knew he was sober, and not just by being able to find things in his kitchen. That feeling he got around Jerry was back, and not the one he'd been having last night. He was shit scared of him. He didn't know how he could let him close enough for sex, both times. Oh well.

He took two mugs back to his room, and found Jerry sitting back against his pillows. Peter handed him one and got back in bed. One of Jerry's legs rested against his own, and it wasn't flirtatious or claustrophobic, it was just nice. If his heart wasn't doing that skittish, fearful thing it normally did around Jerry, he'd be feeling pretty good.

"Thanks," he said. "For, y'know, looking after me."

"Sure."

Against his better judgement, Peter leaned against him a little. They finished their coffee and talked about the others, about the suburbs. Jerry put his arm around him almost absently as he talked, and Peter let him. It made his heart stop doing the skittish thing and go quiet. He realised then, with a compulsory kind of horror, that this, this was what he wanted. This was what made him happy. He brushed the thoughts away to fight with later.

"I gotta go," Jerry was saying.

"Uh-huh," Peter said, but didn't move. After a moment, he lay down properly between Jerry's legs with his head on his rib cage. Jerry only moved to slide down with him.


End file.
